


Ultraviolence

by xoubliette



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Major Spoilers, Multi, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-10 02:31:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2007666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xoubliette/pseuds/xoubliette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mark of Merryweather Security has scarred the city of Los Santos. From the briny depths of his supposed death, Devin Weston emerges a twisted form of his previous self. Ava St. Reaves is a woman out for blood, with little care of whose is shed.<br/>In this business, there's no such thing as retirement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chaos and Calculations

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly this is a little bit of a guilty pleasure with me. Ever since I finished the campaign, I've wanted to write about the motley crew, and after finding this website and seeing other works, I've definitely found the courage to write something. I guess I kind of psyche myself out of writing a lot, but I've definitely got stuck into this first chapter and I hope it stays the same for the planned preceding ones.  
> Feedback is very much appreciated, positive or negative. I hope this is as entertaining for you as a reader as it was for me as a writer. Hopefully I'm staying true to all the canon characters.

Saturday night in Los Santos was the definition of night life.  
By day the city that boasted fame and fortune, that refused outsiders and the weak, was transformed by the setting sun, bathing the buildings in a golden light. By night, as long as you were 21 (or claimed to be) and dressed to the nines, Los Santos threw its arms open to you; and hardly anyone was able to pull themselves away from the fray until 2am at the very earliest.  
Despite this never really having been Ava’s “scene”, there was a bitter quality to sitting across the road from the Vanilla Unicorn at a time nearing midnight. A coffee that had been piping hot hours earlier sitting in the car’s cup holder as she gazed across the street behind cheaply tinted windows, half-pitying herself while the other half refused to pull away from the curb.  
The young woman shifted in the seat of her car, a frown creasing her forehead as she watched yet another male depart from the strip club, another man who was not her designated target. She’d spent the last hour either wanting to leave, to give up her “surveillance” or simply charging into the club and waving her Taser until she got what she wanted. In the back of her mind, her father’s calm, mellow voice bled through these thoughts. _Things that require time are almost always worth the wait,_ she could practically feel the warmth of his presence as he reclined in his favourite leather seat, _especially in the business; only fools rush in_. This had been the single factor that had stopped her from starting up her car and returning to the comfort of Rockford Hills, far from the more “urban” area of Los Santos (her mother’s words).  
Ava combed a hand through her hair, her fingers catching on small knots that required only a simple tug, as her eyes drifted to the car’s digital radio, displaying the time. Twelve on the dot… Who the fuck spends this much time in a strip club? Someone who hasn’t heard of the internet? Ava made an exasperated growl, she’d always been impatient, and it was one of the many things that had stuck to her insistently from her childhood. Something in the back of her head told her that maybe a change of profession was in order, though of course that meant possibly having to return to the local college. She couldn’t truly say which was worse; spending hours of waiting as she staked out a person of interest or spending her days sitting in lectures delivered by overpaid professors, half the class asleep and the other half on their iFruit phones. Ava had often spent those time periods wondering if it were like this all over the country: were the only viable career options to grab fame by the horns or be sanctioned to sit in classes that would send you to sleep, only to be given a piece of a paper and a copy of the bill.  
But all of that didn’t matter now, she’d left in the summer and insisted to both her mother and Julia that she was fine without a degree, had spent countless hours ranting about how terrible the experience of college had been, how the decision to leave had been completely of her own accord and not because of the Incident. She liked to call it that, _the Incident_ , even though it was all a string of multiple occurrences, ranging in size, the Incident sounded so concise that she’d not been able to refer to the period in time as anything else.  
Her eyes were locked on the door of the club as her mind mulled over the Incident when the figure of a man slipped into the night. The pit of her stomach grew bright with excitement; the faded green hoodie, the baggy jeans, this was him. Her hand slipped to the keys of her car, turning on the ignition but not flicking on her lights just yet. She’d need to watch his movements first, arousing suspicion would quash all of her patient waiting. From across the road she watched as the man slipped inside the white car, a few moments later the lights were on and he was pulling out of the parking lot. Despite the empty street, he paused at the end of the drive, waiting for a moment or two.  
Ava frowned before she saw a woman in a trench coat saunter over to the side of the car and open the door. A girl? She wondered whether this would make her job any easier, weighing her options of just how to approach the pair when they pulled up at their destination. There wasn’t much time to think though; the white car was pulling into the street, heading deeper into the suburb of Strawberry.  
Ava waited a moment or two, watching the car in her rear-view mirror, before turning on her lights and pulling a swift U-turn to trail behind the two. On second thought, Ava figured that with female company, at least the man wouldn’t be prone to looking behind him, and thus spot the grey car that must, at this point, feel eerily familiar.  
The car ahead of her snaked through the streets of Strawberry for roughly ten minutes, Ava waiting patiently at the wheel, making sure to keep her distance or act otherwise disinterested when a red light prohibited their movement. From what she could see of the car ahead of her, the two were having a conversation, the woman's arm positioned in such a way that it was possible her hand was in the man's lap. She gave an eye roll, if this was how men got their kicks than she was glad she'd been born a woman. Despite having only tailed him briefly, she gave a sigh of relief as the car pulled up in front of a shabby looking house. Ava opted to stopping a few meters back, under the darkness of an unlit stretch of street.  
She waited as the passenger stepped out of the vehicle, the driver readjusting himself in his seat as his company made her way to the sidewalk. Now was the time to bite, any later and he'd be able to slip away into the woman's abode, no doubt to continue what they had started in the car. Ava opened her car door, making sure to lock it in the process, keys in hand as she made her way towards the woman. As she closed in, the driver stepped out of his car, his gaze fixed on the woman as Ava opened her mouth.  
"Franklin?!"  
The man's line of vision snapped to her, his head tilting slightly to the side, confusion misting his eyes over. She couldn't blame him; as far as she knew, he'd never seen her in his life, but that wasn't the tale she was going to tell. The man made to open his mouth, but Ava cut him off before he could manage.  
"I knew you were sneaking around behind my back," she barked, her hand colliding with his arm, gripping what she could with as much force as she could muster. The man gawked, lost for words. The woman who had accompanied him seemed much the same, though she was quick to fold her arms over her chest. She'd seen this before, if not in person than in the movies. It was a rotten cliche after all; the estranged girlfriend tailing her boyfriend to find some mysterious (or trashy) woman he's banging on the side. It was Ava's favourite role to play; the desperate, possessive, soon-to-be ex partner, flinging herself aggressively at both parties.  
"Boy, if this 's your bitch then I'm out," the woman gestured into the air, her full lips pouting as she glared at Franklin and then Ava in turn. Only now did Franklin attempt to defend himself, his voice sputtering like an old car's engine, slipping right into where Ava wanted him.  
"Baby, wait! I don't know this gi-"  
"So that's how you treat me? After I catch you out?" Ava jerked backwards, her voice commanding her audience's attention. She spat on the ground in front of his shoes, her hands on her hips, one eyebrow raised.  
"You got it twisted, I ain-"  
"Deal with this shit somewhere else, and don't expect any more _favours_ ," the woman was seemingly fed up, Ava's grin victorious as the other stormed up the pathway to her house, searching for her keys in the knock off Louis Vuitton clutch she held.  
"I... Wha... Who the fuck are you?" Franklin's eyes fluttered from the woman who had dismissed him to Ava, as she smirked with deep satisfaction. From her back pocket she pulled out the Taser, waving it menacingly in his direction. Franklin raised his hands submissively, "Okay, okay, look I don't want any trouble,"  
Ava lapped up his confusion, "Franklin Clinton, right? Well, actually, you don't need to say. I already know who you are, where you live, your..." She gestured to the stripper's home, inside which a light had fluttered on, "Unsavoury tendencies. And I don't want your money, by the way, even though this would be a really funny way to mug someone, I still wouldn't risk it. I mean, how many people are going to stick their hands up for some scrawny white chick, right?" Ava let out a harsh chuckle, "Maybe you're just a good guy, maybe this just isn't your night, I don't know. But," and at this, she let the Taser spark, causing the man to jump, "I'm not here just for a little chit chat, if I wanted a one sided conversation, I'd stay in the comfort of my own home. No, what it want, Franklin, is for you to call your buddies, you know, Michael De Santa, Trevor Phillips. I want you to call those two and tell them to meet you at the Vinewood sign, think you can handle that?"  
Franklin paused for a moment, letting her words sink in. His face betrayed the thoughts in his head, something along the lines of 'damn this bitch is nuts' Ava imagined, before speaking, his words slow and his tone forcibly calm.  
"Alright, alright, I'll call 'em," he slowly reached one hand into the pocket of his hoodie, pulling out a phone slowly, displaying that it wasn't a weapon. Ava gave a curt nod, letting him sift through his contacts. He placed the phone too his ear, keeping his eyes locked on Ava as the phone rung. The street was still dead quiet, the air chill with the cold of midnight, the only noise piercing through the semi-darkness was the ring of Franklin's phone.  
One ring, two rings, a gruff voice picked up on the third. Ava could hear the distant, hollow tone, making out a word or two as she waited for Franklin to respond.  
"Aye T, it's me, Franklin," he said, keeping his voice even. She gave a calm nod of approval. His eyes seemed to darken slightly. "We need to talk. Meet me at the Vinewood sign as soon as possible. It's important,"  
He hung up, looking expectantly at the woman in front of him.  
"Good," Ava murmured, "now the other one,"

Breath thick with whiskey, eyes slightly glazed, Michael lay in bed on the brink of sleep when the phone on the bed stand began to vibrate insistently. Amanda shifted in her sleep, rolling slightly towards him, her breathing deep as on of her hands linked around her husband's arm. He smiled softly, taking a moment's pause to survey the woman for a moment, her face soft and peaceful, his eyelids flickering slightly. He wondered what she was dreaming of.  
Then he remembered, his damn phone. He'd let it ring out. For a moment he considered simply rolling over closer to Amanda, letting the fucker who'd called him so late go ignored. He was sick of midnight calls, he'd promised himself that after they'd called it quits, he'd start getting some actual sleep. But a second set of vibrations quelled this, and his hand groped blindly in the darkness to pick up the device, checking the caller ID before answering the call.  
"Frankie," he murmured in the darkness, his voice low and hoarse. Maybe he'd drunk more than he'd thought, he sounded like shit. Franklin's breathing was audible through the line.  
"Hey M. Listen, I know this is a lot to ask but I need you up at Vinewood sign real soon. There's some shit we need to sort out,"  
There was something about the tone of his voice that set off alarm bells in Michael's mind. The air on the other end of the line was eerily quiet, as was the calm quality of Franklin's tone. Despite the utter lack of urgency in his friend's voice, Michael's gut told him instantly that something was wrong.  
"I can manage that Frank... I'll be there, okay?" Then in a lower voice, "Armed,"  
The dial tone went dead in response. Michael felt his stomach shift, a queasy feeling spreading through his limbs. He waited a moment, letting his body settle slightly before he moved to disentangle himself from Amanda. She let out a low groan in response, stirring slightly but not waking. Michael lifted himself from the side of the bed, picking up a discarded button up from the floor and pulling it on.  
Properly clothed moments later, sporting the baggiest of his jeans and a pair of sneakers, Michael crept out onto the landing of his house, his eyes running over both of the adjourning bedrooms. Tracey’s room yielded a closed door, under which no light streamed through, however the soft hum of Jimmy’s gaming console and a muted blue light from the cracked door told him his son was yet to sleep. Michael knew he wouldn’t give him any trouble, heck if the kid noticed anything it was a miracle. He stepped softly down the stairs, his keys jingling slightly in his pocket, unlocking the front door before being greeted by a cold gust of air.  
He escaped the chilly gusts after unlocking his car, slipping into the warm seat and letting out a sigh. Turning up the heat, he reversed out of his driveway, his gate opening for his vehicle as he pulled out onto the street.  
The drive would be roughly fifteen minutes, and as he made his way up the incline of the street, he turned on the radio, sifting through the station until he found a rock ballad from his twenties, hoping the music would calm his fears. He might be wrong, he told himself, but he was sure he wasn’t. He’d thought this would all have been laid to rest after they’d tossed Devin Weston into the sea, surely this time around he’d get the retirement he deserved, there were no more skeletons in Michael De Santa’s closet. Even the loose cannon of the picture, Trevor, seemed to have settled into the peaceful aftermath of “The Big One”; the guy was crazy as ever, but at least he had little reason to keep tripping Michael up. They’d all gotten comfortable, come to think of it; it had been almost two months now, but something in the back of his mind told him this was the beginning of something big. At that thought he pushed his foot harder on the gas. Whatever it was that was waiting for him at the Vinewood sign, there was no point hiding from it.  
His engine letting out a satisfying roar, Michael De Santa headed towards his fate.

They were five minutes from the Vinewood sign now, and Ava could feel the excitement building in her body. Beside her, Franklin Clinton’s posture was ridged, his hands gripping the steering wheel as he drove purposefully towards their destination.  
Ava tapped her fingers on the Taser, a playful reminder to the man that any funny business would not go unnoticed.  
“I’m a Los Santos native. Rockford Hills,” Ava murmured to make conversation, the words hinting that detours would not trip her up. For a moment, his gaze flickered over to her, his forehead creased with worry.  
“Yeah? Funny, because this,” he nodded his head as if to gesture to the current situation, “ain’t exactly the behaviour of someone from the good part of town,”  
Ava shrugged her shoulders, “I’m not a cliché,”  
Franklin paused for a moment, letting the silence hang in the air before speaking again, “You probably won’t tell me but… What exactly do you get from this? I mean… What’s your plan? Get us all together and then what?”  
“All in good time,” Ava murmured softly, shifting slightly in her seat. Despite his obedience to her words, the woman had a sneaking suspicion that the man was taking her with little seriousness. She couldn’t blame him really, she was going against her own discourse. On the outside, she seemed… Normal. No one could have guessed the thoughts that churned in the woman’s head if she stood before them. Maybe she looked like the sort of the girl fresh off the bus, one who was hoping to pursue a career in acting, who’d meet her demise from filthy talent agents with wandering hands and men who promised her the world. But she wasn’t that girl. She wasn’t exactly the opposite either, no, that would be just as bad.  
Ava liked to think she was an anomaly. Something that had to be explained, something that people couldn’t recognise on initial sighting.  
The woman flicked the Taser off and stored it in the back pocket of her jeans, shifting upwards to make room for the boxy piece of equipment. Sure, maybe Franklin wouldn’t take Ava with a Taser seriously, but he sure would if he saw she was packing. From underneath her baggy sweater, she retrieved the pistol, the weapon heavy in her hand. She’d stolen it from the safe of her father’s belongings, the weapon was loaded with only a few rounds, but it’s appearances was what she wanted to do the work. She held it in her hands, her finger moving to switch off the safety.  
Franklin made a slight coughing sound.  
“Well… At least you’ve got that,”  
“Why?” Ava tilted her head.  
Something that resembled a grin spread across his lips, “Well I’m just sayin’, if you know anything about Trevor Philips than you’d know that a Taser wouldn’t exactly scare the dude,”  
Ava let out a small snort, “Even if it were pointed at his friend?”  
“Especially not,” he paused, “how’d you find me?”  
“You were pretty easy to tail,” Ava leaned back in her seat, the fabric giving to her weight as she searched the empty road. Already she could see the slight stream of light that was omitting from a car parked around the bend. She adjusted her sights on the driver, “You’re going to say I’m a friend, say I got some information, alright?” A black car had come into view, “Remember, I know how to use the gun, don’t kid yourself,”  
A middle aged man was standing in front of his headlight, craning to look inside Franklin’s vehicle. The two pulled up beside the black car, Franklin turning off the engine before stepping outside his opened door. Ava had stashed away the pistol, and followed his movements.  
“Aye Frank, how’s it going? Who’s your friend?”  
“She’s, uh, just a neighbour,” Franklin replied, a little too quickly. Ava exchanged a glance with the other man, knowing from the few pictures she’d seen that this was Michael De Santa. She gave him a curt nod, before trying to look vaguely disinterested as Franklin let Michael know the group was to wait for Trevor.  
“Gotta say T, kinda weird being woken up at this time, especially since you don’t seem too… Urgent,” Michael eyed the man before shooting a glare towards Ava, “What’s ya name, sweetheart?”  
Ava bristled at the pet name, “It’s Olivia,” she didn’t extend her hand and neither did he.  
“Olivia, hey? I knew a girl called Olivia,” suspicion brewed in his eyes as he searched her own, piercing through the veil of deceit. Ava hoped her guard was enough to deflect his gaze.  
“And I’ve known about ten guys named Michael,” Ava replied curtly, drawing her eyes instead to a growing sound coming from the track they’d driven on. The growl of an engine, the rattle of something loose. Suddenly the blaring lights rounded the corner, and as her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw the off-red tint of the truck. The car stopped in its tracks, moments later a disheveled man had appeared from the driver’s side, leaving the car and it’s lights on.  
“How’s it going boys and… _Lady_? Heck, if I'd known we were having company, I would have cleaned myself up a bit!” Trevor Philips called out, throwing his arms in the air as he approached the three of them. Ava knew that this was the time to take her queue. Her hand under her shirt, fingers wrapped around the gun’s handle, she swung her arm to point the gun at Franklin, just as Michael’s own pistol appeared.  
“Woah, _woah_!” Franklin cried out, his hands in the air, eyes fixed on the gun pointed at him. Ava’s eyes were locked on Michael’s, a sense of determination filling her to the brim.  
“Now I don’t like to speak badly around a woman, but who the _fuck_ are you and what do you want with us?”  
The man’s finger was hovering above the trigger, Ava knew she’d have to speak fast to get over this bump in her plan. She was, after all, dealing with experts; these were the men who had rocked the town of Los Santos with their antics. These were the men who fought fire with fire.  
“Does the name _Devin Weston_ ring a bell?”


	2. Hurricane Warnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth about Devin's death is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping this chapter makes sense, I mean I know it would have been near impossible for Devin to have survived the death Rockstar gave him, but I just like the dynamic it would add to a continuation of the Grand Theft Auto 5 plot. Hope you enjoy, and as always, feedback is incredibly welcome!

Ava sat in the passenger side seat, watching the blip on the car’s GPS move along the road, toying with the loaded gun in her lap. Michael De Santa’s hands gripped the wheel as he drove, his voice frozen in the beginnings of a scowl, Ava guessing that his mind was churning with a thick torrent of thoughts. The air in the car was stiff with tension, and despite the cold chill of the night, a small layer of sweat was forming on Ava’s upper lip. The cars behind them Franklin Clinton and Trevor Philips trailed at a close distance. Michael had insisted the young woman ride with him, muttering something about keeping an eye on her. At this point Ava was fully aware she no longer held any power of her own, what little weight she held was the information she had promised to deliver.  
Despite having spent roughly ten minutes in the car, there was yet to be any conversation between them. Michael hadn’t glanced in Ava’s direction, not even when Ava had audibly turned the safety back on the gun, nor when she had programmed their destination into the GPS. This seemed largely uncharacteristic of the man she had profiled, spending her last few months profiling all three men while looking into the Merryweather Security organization. The trace had originally begun with Trevor, he was all over the militia’s database, the man had caused more problems for them then the US government. Digging deeper yielded connections to a “Michael Townley”, though soon enough she’d pieced together that Michael Townley was now Michael De Santa, part-time criminal and producer on the side.  
Franklin Clinton was harder to find; his presence was near invisible, though she did hear from an irate ex-employer who cursed the man upon her mention. It had taken a few stakeouts of the man’s Vinewood complex to find out a decent outline of him; his roots in Strawberry, the people he hung out with, his definite involvement to the recent crime wave that had ended in a robbery of the Union Depository. All her work had ultimately correlated in the stakeout until midnight and where she sat at that moment. She knew that she only knew half of what these men were capable of, that approaching them the way she had could have gotten her gunned down, but all the same she couldn’t have convinced herself to act otherwise. Dangerous, fool-hardy men were what she needed and that meant running with people in a whole league above her.  
“What’s your name?”  
Ava gave a small start, the sudden end to the silent a shock to her mind.  
“I told you, Ol-”  
“Bullshit. Your real name. You know mine so I should know yours,”  
The woman paused and let her eyes wander to the man next to her. He still held the same icy expression as he fixed his eyes to the road. The country outside was becoming heavily wooded.  
“Ava,”  
“Okay Ava,” he said, allowing her a glance, “tell me, what exactly do you get from this whole shamble of a night? Are you leading us to some police set-up or something? Devin Weston is dead, in fact, the guy’s deader than dead,”  
Ava grimaced, she couldn’t explain it all now, she’d look and sound insane. Heck, she knew it wouldn’t be the first time, but in order to not have the man potentially put a bullet in her skull, she knew she’d have to stall.  
“You’ll see when we get there,”  
Michael made a frustrated noise at this, “Explain or I’ll pull over,”  
“Pull over and I’ll pull something myself,”  
“Are you one of Weston’s lackeys? Does he have a thing for brunettes with as much charm as a fog horn? Did he need a replacement for Molly?”  
“Oh, Molly, Molly Schultz? You mean the woman you pushed in front of a plane turbine?”  
“For the last fucking time, I didn’t pu-”  
“I know,” Ava interrupted; her brow heavily creased, “I saw the security footage,”  
Michael paused, letting out an exasperated sigh, noticeably diffusing slightly. She thought about apologizing for a moment but mentally shook her head. She wasn’t going to start being apologetic any time soon, especially not for this man. After a minute or two of silence, Michael cleared his throat.  
“Is Devin alive? Can you at least answer me that?”  
His eyes locked with her own now, and Ava could feel a sense of urgency behind the clear blue irises. She wondered if the man beside her was scared, something deep down told her he was, after all she’d seen that same look once before; it was the one her father had given her several months before. She didn’t blame the man, she was scared too. But now wasn’t the time for that, as soon as they would arrive at their destination, a hurricane would begin brewing. Beyond that, everything would spiral out of everyone’s control, including her own. There wouldn’t be room for hesitation or fear.  
“Yeah,” she replied, “Yeah, he’s alive,”

Scarred and maimed, bruised and broken. These were words that Devin would have never wanted to describe himself. Entrepreneurial? Yes. Calculating? Sure. Devastatingly dashing? Of course. Brilliant, invigorating, a freaking great guy. But not dejected, or downtrodden, that was not Devin.  
He looked out on the dark shores of Paleto Bay, arms folded across his chest, his face a stony glower. How many times in the past months had he looked out on the shoreline like this, as if cursing the waves like some old fisherman’s widow? Too many times, he knew, but all the same this was his practice, looking out at the thick swell that had, at one point, threatened to end his life. Face your fears, his father had always told him, stare them in the eye until they sweat bullets.  
The coastguard had seen the burning wreckage just in time. He had, of course, refused to go out silently, and they’d heard his body thrashing in the boot of the car, using the last of his strength and mental capacity to fight against the claws of death. At this point he’d started to lose the battle, his lungs filling with water, his sight going from the murky car’s boot to somewhere far darker; a world with no light, his vision becoming blotchier. He’d been pulled from the boot and resuscitated by a Seaman barely out of diapers, it was a miracle he was alive, pure and simple. But of course, after he’d thrown up half a lung of water, the burning hit him.  
The car explosion had lacerated half of his face and body, and he’d sure as fuck felt the impact. Despite the warmth of the day and the heat from his body, he’d started to shiver like a wet mutt in seconds, convulsing and practically frothing at the mouth. Devin didn’t think the sensation had ever fully stopped, though it was a different sort of burning now; burning rage, burning humiliation, the capacity to burn everything in sight.  
One hand had unconsciously started to softly dance along the mottled flesh of his cheek now, fingers feeling the various crevices that had come about. The worst part had been how his skin had dripped off his face, and the memory of wanting to piece it all back together, attempting this vain action only to the horror of the man who had saved him. He’d never fully lost consciousness, apparently he hadn’t deserved that small mercy. His mind, when reflecting on that day, was filled with sirens, frantic voices, a nurse with instant coffee on her breath, a doctor with gloved hands that were refreshingly icy, all underlined with the feeling that fire was dancing across his skin.  
And them. The three. The ones who’d so pleasantly lain him in his coffin and thrown him a funeral. They’d be laughing now, thinking that he was gone into the briny depths of the ocean, thinking he was fish food as they went back to living with the millions they’d made off with. Back to their fast cars and mindless spending, their boring sex and their fucking tennis courts. Lounging by the pool, thinking that finally they’d be able to settle down and live the American Dream; that that was how the story would end.  
Well, not if Devin had anything to do with it. From his pocket he retrieved the mobile phone he reserved for matters of business. He was answered in a single ring.  
“Order the hit,” he murmured, knowing these three words were as deadly as bullets in a gun. Satisfied, he hung up the phone without a response, patiently waiting for all hell to break lose.

The cabin was tucked away in the thickest area of the forest; if a plane or a helicopter had circled overhead, they would be none the wiser that a small nook of the woods was home to a large amount of sensitive information. It was a small walk from the dirt path that led up from the city, one that was punctuated by the crunch of leaves underfoot as the four made their way through the trees in the semi-darkness, led by Ava.  
Nervous tension was once again abundant in her body, and after the somewhat diffusing words between Michael and herself, Ava was just about done with the tight feeling in the pit of her stomach. The man hadn’t said a word to his two friends since disembarking from his vehicle, and had exchanged something that could have been a look of truce with Ava. She’d quickly announced that the cabin was tucked deeper into the forest.  
“You alright with that Mikey?” Trevor had grunted, having retrieved his phone from his pocket, using it as a makeshift flashlight as the other three followed his lead.  
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Michael countered, a tone of annoyance evident in his voice.  
“Whelp, the past few months haven’t exactly been active ones now that things have died down,” Trevor began, and Ava could hear something that sounded like playfulness in the way he spoke, “What’s the most exercise you’ve gotten? To and from the couch to the fridge? And those stairs of yours, well, they must be an effort,”  
“Cut it out, T, we don’t have time for your shit right now,”  
“Okay, okay, just trying to lighten the mood, I’ll back off,” though he didn’t sound like backing off was part of the plan. Ava glanced over her shoulder to notice Franklin’s gaze locked on her. He gave a small headshake.  
Weaving through the branches of the trees and the shrubbery of the forest floor, soon enough the cabin’s outline became apparent after fording a small ridge. Silently, Ava pointed it out between the low hanging branches of a pine.  
“Oh goodie,” Trevor muttered, squinting through the darkness, the light from their cell phones managing to pierce some of the thick darkness. “I was beginning to get scared. It sure is spooky out here,” He’d fallen into tow with Ava and started to make hand gestures that a child might make to illustrate a ghost. Raising his hands above his head and moving his fingers menacingly. Michael gave a harsh bark of laughter.  
“You’d scare off anything that could do us any harm, Trev,”  
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he replied, lowering his arms, giving a small smirk, “All the same, I’d hate to think of this little lady coming out here all alone late at night,”  
Ava gave a shrug, “I like the dark,” she didn’t really, what she liked was familiarity. The cabin had been owned by her father before she was in existence; it had been an integral part of her childhood.  
“Brave girl,” Trevor smirked, “Can we get a name, sugar? I like the whole mysterious woman act but it’s one that doesn’t last, y’know?”  
“It’s Ava,” Michael interjected when Ava hesitated, feeling faintly relieved, “And seriously, T, this isn’t a game. This is some serious shit, you need to stop acting like this is some sort of elaborate roleplay,”  
“Oh believe me, this isn’t the sort of roleplay I like. Besides, Devin Weston? Like the fucker’s alive, bet it’s just Merryweather trying to cover their asses, they’re practically being dragged out of the US,”  
“He’s alive, T. If I didn’t think he was, this charade wouldn’t still be going,” Michael’s voice was firm, but his irritation was obvious. Ava glanced over her shoulder again; so he did believe her word. She’d somewhat doubted this after he’d fallen silent, her claim was on the preposterous side. She’d read the hospital record of what had happened to Weston; he’d been admitted after having nearly drowned with severe burns and half his face melted off. He’d also managed to ingest a decent amount of water that contained chemical fluids in it after the front half of the car had exploded. The three really had done a number on the guy, and though she had no sympathy for the man, it had been hard to think of the damage done to Devin without feeling at least a little ill.  
“Where’s the proof?” Trevor demanded, his voice having heightened in volume as his anger at Michael became apparent. At this question, Ava jumped in.  
“Don’t you think that it’s weird that there have been no articles about him being dead or even missing? Doesn’t that seem a little too tidy to you?”  
“First of all, that’s because they haven’t found a body and second of all, because that guy is a fucking douche bag and even the people that work for him are glad he’s gone,” Trevor replied, his voice hinting at a note of satisfaction with his reply. Michael gave a small snort at this, and made to speak against what Trevor had spoken before Franklin interrupted him.  
“Hold up, Michael, surely we ain’t out here just because the news isn’t covering this guy. Maybe he just hasn’t been reported missing, maybe it’s better that way for Merryweather. There’s gotta be more,”  
“There is,” Ava replied, trying not to sound exasperated, “Don’t you think that after the catastrophe that was the last six months that Merryweather would have been completely revoked from the country? Especially after plenty of their forces were found massacred at the foundry? So how are they still even in the country? After suffering that much of a loss, after having so little success, they’re still lurking around Los Santos like a bad smell,”  
“And your point is?” Franklin countered.  
“They’re still being funded. Devin’s people would have axed that after he didn’t show up; they’ve got to know what sort of business dealings that guy goes through. Look, I spoke to one of his ex-employees; this guy really had it out for Devin. He told me that in the event of Devin’s death, all ties would be cut as not to draw attention to why he died. So sure, his people could be giving Merryweather to keep their mouths shut. But why would Merryweather not just take that money and fuck off back to where they come from? They’re not getting hired here any time soon,”  
By this point they’d reached the outside of the cabin. Ava had turned around to face the men, her tone thick with confidence as she asserted what she’d spent countless hours of research on. This was what she had worked for, and she wouldn’t be second guessed.  
“No, Merryweather is slowly and steadily trying to regain their numbers. They’re upgrading. And they’re doing this because Devin Weston is biding his time. He’s counting on you three to not second guess yourselves; he’s counting on you to be confident in what you’ve done. But the guy’s alive, and if it wasn’t for this information, I’d give you three two weeks before some priest is standing over your coffin, lying how you all were stand up fucking guys, so if you wouldn’t mind affording me a little patience,” she turned around, her hand in her pocket, pulling out a ring of keys, finding the rusty one that would unlock the door, “I’ll do all the proving I need to do,”  
“Yes Ma’am,” Trevor replied, Ava seeing him salute from her peripheral vision.  
The door gave a click as it unlocked, but Ava knew she had to give it a bump with her shoulder in order for the hinges to give way. She stumbled through the open doorway, the scent of the cabin greeting her. The cabin had always smelt the same, not matter the time of the year; pine needles, a slight but pleasant dampness, dark chocolate and a hint of her father’s favourite cologne, the one he claimed had won her mother over. She flicked the ancient switch that powered the cabin on, letting the lights sputter on and stepping inside to make way for the three men.  
Ava regretted not warning the trio about how the cabin would make her look. On the wooden walls were many mapped diagrams consisting of various bits of string, photographs she’d taken on stakeouts, documents that connected to different people of interest, small scrawled notes in her messy handwriting explaining different sections and details. An overflowing file cabinet sat in one corner, next to a hard oak desk that was topped with a state of the art PC, hidden amongst numerous piles of paper. At the other side of the room was a small bar fridge, on top of this two framed photographs; one was a family portrait taken when Ava was six, the other was of the first time her father had taken her hunting. An old, ragged couch was next to the bar fridge, as was a small coffee table littered with empty chocolate packets and old energy drink cans.  
But what Ava was sure would capture the men’s attention was not the state of mess that the cabin held, but rather the diagrams that yielded her investigations of each of the men. Above the PC was a mapped out version of each of the men’s lives. Trevor took a step towards his own, a frown creasing his face as he picked up a picture of himself, a hooker climbing into the passenger side of the car.  
“Hope you didn’t see what happened after that,” Trevor said, turning and giving a wink. He didn’t seem too worried about the fact his diagram was almost twice the size of both the men’s. Michael wore a grimace, but sighed in resignation.  
“Damn girl,” Franklin said, scratching his head, “This is just plain creepy,”  
Sheepishly Ava shuffled from one foot to the other, “I’m a private-eye,” she pointed to the framed certificate that had taken her an embarrassingly short time to acquire.  
“Sure but… Damn,” he was studying a picture of his friend, Lamar Davis.  
“What needed to be done was done,” Ava replied, shaking her head and quickly making her way to the computer desk. She shuffled a few papers before she found the file, marked simply as “Weston,” The men had gathered around her now. She had to admit, the file was one of her smallest, containing only a few photos and mostly her notes on things. Luckily she only had to show the group one photograph to solidify her point. “I staked out his mansion but I figured it would be too easy if he was staying there. Then I started noticing this one guy pulling up and going into his house. Saw him a few times, he only took small things; books, a yoga mat. So I tailed him, all the way up to freaking Paleto Bay. He dropped these things off at the front door of a bungalow. I waited nearby, took three hours until I saw anything. When I did, I managed to get this,”  
Ava picked the photograph from under another and held it up. The picture was grainy, the lighting poor, the blur of a moving car blemishing the shot further. But through the haze, it was obvious that the man she had captured on the camera was someone with the same build as Devin Weston, half of his face obscured by bandages.  
“Fuck,” Michael breathed, grabbing the photograph from her grasp, “Fucking Devin Weston. So he made it out,”  
“But… Shit. Shit, what does this even mean?” Franklin sputtered; he looked from Michael to Trevor, searching for an answer. Michael shook his head, sighing heavily. He seemed to age several years in that moment.  
“It means,” Trevor said, his voice a soft, dangerous murmur, “that we’re out of retirement,”  
Franklin opened his mouth, and then closed it, shutting his eyes in exasperation. “The one thing that I just don’t get,” he said, looking at Ava now, his eyes probing, “Is how you fit into all of this. What’s your bone to pick?”  
Ava sighed, biting on the inside of her mouth, a habit she’d picked up a young girl. The taste of blood, like tang and rust, spread across her tongue, “Well for starters, Devin Weston killed my father,”


	3. Something Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Devin Weston sends a message.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda short, kinda lame, but had to get it out of the way before the plot starts rolling. Hopefully I'll be able to get up another chapter soon as I have a week off of work.

There had been a general disquiet after the cabin door had closed; none of the banter that had preceded the walk was evident in the short trek back. There was one thing that had become apparent though; whether they liked it or not, the four of them were bound together by this. She’d been well aware of this before they’d entered the forest; it was what her entire plan of action had hitched on after all. This was not a fete she could pull off by herself.   
Back with the cars, Trevor characteristically broke the silence.  
“So what’s the deal from here; we go in guns blazing?”  
Ava found herself shaking her head before any of the three could speak in her place, “And achieve what? Little. The guy’s guarded to the tenth degree, plus; he’ll want to get the jump on one of you and take you all out one by one. What he doesn’t know is that we know. So we’ve logically got to plan the att-”  
Michael raised a hand in the air, frowning, “Hope up a minute, what do you mean ‘we’? Look, kid, we appreciate the tip-off, even if you were speaking at gun point earlier tonight, but there’s no we. There’s an us,” he gestured to Trevor and Franklin, “and then there’s you,”  
Ava had to quell the want to stamp her foot down in frustration, the emotion showing clear as day on her face, “Are you kidding me?” she snapped, “I come to you with this shit on a silver platter, I deserve an in,”  
Michael gave a snort at this, “No offense, sweetheart, but have you ever even fired off a round in that thing you’ve been luggin’ around? Hell, are you even legal? This is the big leagues, baby, we ain’t got time for someone in training wheels,”  
At this, the young woman clenched her fists, her face heating with anger despite the cold chill of the night’s air, “I’m twenty-three, and I’m not in any training wheels. I’ve fired plenty of rounds, and I’ll remind you; I’m a goddamn PI,” she opted out of mentioning that these shots had been in the safety of an Ammu-Nation firing range, “And I swear to God if you don’t let me in on this, I’ll hunt the mother fucker down myself and see where that ends up,”  
An exasperated sigh on his lips, Michael folded his arms against his chest. Before he could open his mouth in reply, Franklin cut in, moving into the space between the two as if severing an invisible rope. Ava half expected to stumble backwards.   
“Look, Mike, she’s got a point. Surely she’s gotta know a thing or two if she was able to track down Devin Weston, as well as the three of us down. We oughta at least give her a chance,”  
Ava was surprised that the man she’d threatened to Taser was now vouching for her. Trevor gave a small shrug of agreement, moving from one foot to the other. “I’d be happy to train her up, if that’d help,” he said in a low growl, before shooting a wink in Ava’s direction. The young woman resisted the urge to take a sidestep to her left; she knew Trevor’s history, she couldn’t deny that the man stirred a small amount of fear inside of her. Michael had begun to knead his temple with weathered fingers, a slow resignation seeping onto his features. He gave a weary sigh, before shaking his head, turning on his heel and making his way to his car.  
“Fine,” he said, over his shoulder, “But don’t you two come cryin’ to me when she gets blown up or something, alright? You vouch for her, she’s your goddamn responsibility,” He was inside his car and pulling away before anyone could reply. Ava placed her hands on her hips and smirked, she’d won this round. Beside her, Trevor rolled his eyes, snorting as he did so.  
“Someone’s got their panties in a twist,” he said, before turning his attention onto Ava. She didn’t so much dislike the look he gave her, so much as she was innately cautious of it, “So, sugar, want to ride with Uncle Trev?”  
“Think she’d end up dead before we could prove Michael wrong,” Franklin said with a smirk. The older man gave a growl, before heading towards his truck, waving a hand in the air dismissively.   
“Fine, fine, have it your way. I guess all Trevor’s good for is his words and nothing more. Whatever, you two go fuck each other and film it on your iFruit phones, see if I care,” he ranted before entering his car and driving in the wake of Michael’s car. Franklin gave an audible sigh before gesturing to his ride, slightly muddied by the track they’d driven on. “Sorry. About both of ‘em. They’re a handful,”  
“And surprisingly you’re not,” Ava responded, raising her eyebrows in surprise. She rounded the car to the passenger side. She clipped her seatbelt in as Franklin positioned himself behind the driver’s seat. He started the engine as he spoke, flicking the lights of the car on.  
“Yeah, guess we all complement each other,” he replied, pulling the car into a neat U-turn and throttling down the track. The rough surface under the car caused the vehicle to jump every so often.  
“I guess because you came on a lot later in the game, hey?” she gave a small laugh, realising how creepy her knowledge of him sounded. She paused as they hit a particularly large bump, Ava bracing herself against the seat, “Did you speak up back there because of how you and Michael met…?”  
His eyes peeled, gazing at the road ahead, he gave a short nod, “Yeah, guess I know what it’s like to be at the short end of the stick, y’know. Michael helped me off my feet when I was down in the hood, now I have a pad in Vinewood Hills and mo’ money than I could imagine, I owe a lot to him,”  
She couldn’t help giving a small snort, “He sounds stand up, guess he’s got something against me,”  
Franklin glanced over, a small frown creasing his brow, “That ain’t it, he’s just concerned. I mean, you’re practically the same age as his daughter, guess it’s that paternal instinct, y’know?” he paused, before giving a small chuckle, “Or that fact that his first impression of you contained a gun,”  
Ava shrugged, “Yeah I know. My dad probably would have been the same,”  
There was a small silence as Franklin pulled off of the dirt track and onto the main road. Ava felt the car noticeably gain speed as they begun to head down the mountains, overtaking a small Volkswagen in the process.  
“’m sorry ‘bout your old man,” Franklin finally said, another glance wafting her way. Ava shrugged, she was used to this; apologies by people who never knew him. She knew it was simply etiquette but all the same it never ceased to bother her. What good was an apology if nothing lay behind it? Why not just save your breath? She didn’t voice this descent as the car rounded a bend, speeding further away from the mountains; after all it never ended well when she did.  
“It’s okay,” she replied, as she always did.  
“It’s not okay,” Franklin replied, another small silence, and then, “What happened? If you don’t mind saying,”  
Ava didn’t. Surprisingly she’d tell the story to anyone who’d listen, hell, one time she’d even found herself rambling away to a cashier. That was her problem, really, speaking too much of things that made people wholly uncomfortable. No one wanted to hear about her issues on a first date or while she was ordering a coffee. But this was different, really that was the only way to describe the situation she’d landed herself in.  
“My father was a detective with the FIB. Prolific; he solved a tonne of terrorism cases, things to do with particularly violent crimes; he even ran security for high-profile events. He became one of the board of directors, the youngest, and he had a lot of authority in Los Santos. At one point he was even investigating those two,” she gave a harsh chuckle at this before continuing, “When Merryweather applied for jurisdiction, though, he started causing a lot of noise, drew a lot of unwanted attention. Merryweather still managed to get through to Los Santos, but my father managed to get a unit dedicated to monitoring them. They managed to keep quiet, and soon the higher-ups were starting to get antsy about how the unit was just costing them money, so they reassigned the team. Despite this, my father knew something was fishy, and kept holding stakeouts of his own until he started coming up with stuff,  
“Small stuff too, like how heavily they’d protect their projects, the guys practically looked like they were going to war. Then one night he spots one of the team he employed entering the compound. He watched him talking to one of the guards, who gave him a wad of cash, before the guy left looking real smug. Of course, upon confrontation my father’s questions were constantly refuted. Then came the suspension; a forced “holiday” from his higher-ups, claiming they though he needed some rest. My father didn’t take it badly, really he took it as the opposite and he continued his watches, more doggedly than before, hell he spent less time at home than he did outside that building. My mother thought he was having an affair, but I knew otherwise,”  
Ava took a moment’s pause to regain herself, noticing she’d become incredibly tense. This was like living the time once more, the wracking feelings of anxiety, simply thinking of her father in possible harm’s way, the wondering if a passing ambulance and its siren yielded the body of her father. Death had always been a fear in his line of work, this was a given, but the obvious hints that something for greater than simply a shady crime was happening in Los Santos. Crime wasn’t a mystery in the town, this was something more. The young woman instinctively foled her arms around her chest, grasping a hand to each forearm tightly. Franklin looked over to her, Ava sensing the weight of his gaze on her, her eyes flickered over to study his own.  
“Are you okay?” he murmured, the silence rippled.  
“Yeah, just caught in thoughts. I’m fine, I’m okay,” she cleared her throat, continuing onwards, “One night we were all asleep, one of the nights he actually stayed home… There were noises outside, breaking glass, sounds of running footsteps. They pulled my father from my parent’s bed and into the courtyard. They hauled us out too. They shot him several times; I guess they were trying to make a statement. Then they left,” he voice was strangely robotic in tone as she finished, clearing her throat as it had become increasingly tighter and tighter, constricting as she’s spoken. Finally she let out a breath, shuddering slightly, before a small nervous laugh rung from her lips.   
“I’m sorry for you, girl,” The car was going distinctly slower than it had before, floating around the speed limit as they grew closer and closer to the city below. The engine’s hum was a soft purr.   
“No need to be. There was a time for that, and that time’s over,” she said in a decisive tone. She was close to gritting her teeth when the back of the car took a sharp bump. Franklin let out a garbled expletive, struggling with the wheel and slamming down on the ignition.  
“What the fuck?!” Ava let out a harsh cry, thrashing around in the seat and catching a glimpse of a black vehicle without a number plate. The make was eerily similar to the cars that had been parked in the driveway on the night her father had died. Her stomach seized as she clamped her hands on the car seat fabric beside her.   
“Shit, shit, shit!” Franklin rounded the corner sharply as the car behind them became sickeningly close once more. He quickly glanced over to look at the gun in Ava’s lap, “You know how to use that piece?”  
Ava gulped, “Er, kinda?”  
“Well kinda’s gonna have to do,” he replied, screeching around yet another bend, almost taking out a street lamp in the process.   
“Yeah, guess it will,” Ava muttered, turning off the safety and slipping her finger past the trigger guard. She opened the window, the wind whipping her hair. She pulled herself out the window, swinging out her arm and clumsily aiming before pulling the trigger. The shot rang out as the car behind them swerved. She pulled the trigger again, this time the bullet marking the car. She shot again, missing the car narrowly.  
“Aim for the tyres!” Franklin suggested, steadying the car.  
“Thanks for the tip!” Ava managed to yell back, before adjusting her aim, squeezing one eye shut as she pulled the trigger once more, making the centre of the tyre cling with a metallic sound. She shot again, missing, before she swore loudly. A shuddering crack rang out as the car rammed into the back of Franklin’s vehicle, and in response to Ava’s gun shots, the sound of bullets raining on the car sounded. She jerked back into the car was a harsh cry.  
“You shot?!” Franklin yelled out, panic thick in his voice.  
“No, thank fuck,” Ava fired back, scowling as more shots rang through the night. Franklin rounded a bend, the residential area of Los Santos quickly engulfing the two cars. A small rusty truck beeped as more shots riddled the boot of the car.  
“We’re gonna have to lose these fuckers,” the man beside her managed through gritted teeth, before he slammed on the breaks, sharply turning a corner and accelerating. Behind them the car was hot on their heels, but several feet further back than before. Ava braced herself in the seat, the blur of the world around them turning her stomach over. She could feel the fluid in her head sloshing from side to side. She’d surely throw up if they managed to make it through this.  
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she managed, her body sending a cacophony of warning signals to her brain. Her hand was still on the gun, “I’m gonna give it another shot, while they’re trying to catch up,”  
She leant out the window before Franklin could voice any objections, the car moving to turn a corner, the metallic body swinging as she focused her aim. Her eyes zeroed in on the driver’s seat, pulling the trigger at the very moment the car lined up diagonally with the driver. The bullet lodged itself in the driver, what part of him she wasn’t sure, and listened as the vehicle spun out of control. She gave a gasp as the black vehicle clammed into the front lawn of a nearby house.  
“Shit! Man, you managed to down those fuckers!” Franklin called out, “Michael’s hearing about this, maybe it’ll make him think back on his word,”  
“Yeah,” Ava managed, slipping back into her seat, “I… Fuck I actually shot them?!” She could feel the pure adrenaline cycling through her body, as intoxicating as a drug, invading her mind. Without permission, her mouth let out a hoot of laughter. Franklin gave a small chuckle.  
“Feels pretty good, don’t it?”  
“Surprisingly,” she no longer felt the need to throw up her lower intestine. She took as few moments to breathe deeply, “Fuck… I’m guessing that was Devin sending a message, though,”  
“Must be,” Franklin agreed, “We sorted out the people who had beefs with us a while ago, I’ve made a point of making sure no one wants my head,”  
The pair were both visibly shaken as they rounded the corner, a few minutes later arriving silently outside of Ava’s Rockford Hills home. For a moment or two, they sat in silence, as if catching their breath after having run a marathon. The young woman’s eyes wandered over to the man beside her, letting out a nervous chuckle. Franklin looked at her as though she was mad, before readjusting his expression quickly.  
“Sorry,” Ava muttered, though her tone was contrary, “Just kinda… Pumped,”  
“Pumped, huh? Maybe next time you ought to take a drive with Trevor,”  
Ava laughed again, this time Franklin returning a genuine smile.  
“Look, I’ll see you around,” Ava murmured, “Hopefully you don’t get jumped on the way back,”  
“Hope so too. Catch you later,”  
Ava watched the car speed off into the night, her heart still pounding with adrenaline.


	4. A Little Diplomacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ava has a surprise visitor and finds that things start to move far quicker than she'd foreseen them to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this took me a while. I was sick with Bronchitis for a while, and have been generally busy but hopefully I'll be able to update a bit more often.

Ava woke to the sounds of Julia bustling around in her room. She let out a thick groan, the blurriness of sleep masking her vision. The sounds of her curtains being pulled back caused her to slam a pillow on top of her head before the sunlight streamed into the room. She gave a small growl of dissent at this, greeted by Julia’s usual chuckle. Warm, easy, sweet like honey, familiar; these were all things Julia never ceased to instil in the young woman.   
“Rise and shine, beautiful girl,” the pillow lay on Ava’s head was lifted upwards. The young woman gave a scowl.  
“Go away,”  
“You never did get past your teenage years, did you? Come on, it’s midday, that’s ridiculous, even for you,”  
“Mm… Go away… Go away, I’m tired,”  
“I’m not surprised. What ungodly time did you sneak in? One, two? I forgot to check my clock when you’re trampling around woke me up,”  
Julia raised an eyebrow, her expression bemused, “Oh, and where on earth is your car?”  
Ava stared at Julia before turning over and groaning. The bed sank as Julia sat down on the edge and the brunette felt a hand placed on her shoulder, “C’mon, I’m not asking you to tell me what you were up to, just that you surface at a semi-reasonable time,”  
“Maybe,”  
“I’ll make you a hangover breakfast… Well, a hangover lunch,”  
“I’m not hung over,” Ava pulled herself gingerly upwards, “I swear,”  
Julia frowned, her soft brown eyes creasing, “You’re as bad as your father, you know that? Out all night, not having fun apparently, turning up in the early hours of the morning. Strange,”  
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Ava replied, smiling wryly.  
“Get dressed, sweetheart, I’ll make waffles,” Julia murmured, giving a playful cheek squeeze before standing up, “You can tell me the minor details of your night,”  
“You wish,” Ava snorted, although there was little malice in her tone. Julia’s round figure disappeared out of the room, closing the door behind her. For a minute, Ava simply stared at the wall opposite her, mind still reeling from memories of the night before. She’d fired a gun, no, she’d killed a man. She’d killed someone! And yet it was almost like an afterthought in her mind. She almost… didn’t care? She felt a small weight relieve itself from her chest. She didn’t care, she truly didn’t. It was an invigorating revelation.  
Moving her legs from under the covers of her bed, she gave her whole body a stretch before rolling out of bed. Standing beside her bed, Ava moved to make her bed, tossing the blankets and straightening her pillows. She often attempted tasks around the St. Reaves home, doing her best to make the list of daily chores Julia was required to do shorter. Julia was not a maid to the household, though she had started off that way. From how she had explained it to Ava, she had enjoyed her many years in their service; however the young woman was sure they had worn her down.  
Julia had started off as a young maid, just off the back of a particularly traumatic job in a large family home. Wanting to keep away from the often deadly family dynamics, she’d applied for a job in the Rockford Hills home to help support her band and two small children.   
Ava’s mother had bonded heavily with the woman, her father having explained that Julia reminded her of her nanny growing up. Viola St. Reaves was from old money, and could have lived comfortably off of the riches that had been left behind by her late father, but despite a rich childhood, her early years left her irreparably scarred for life. It had never been spelled out for Ava, but years later when her father had deemed it necessary, he’d told Ava about her distant grandparents. She gave a small sigh as thought back on her father’s expression when he sat her down and told her the missing pieces of the puzzle she’d always searched for; her grandmother’s fluctuating mood, the scent of her grandfather’s breath, why she often would be barred from seeing her grandparents, the midnight phone calls resulting in her mother’s wailing.  
“Your grandmother had a hard life,” he’d begun, a resignation in his light blue eyes. He’d never explained what had happened to her grandmother, but had told her the resulting damage; Donna St. Reaves was suicidal, she’d lived with bi-polar disorder from a young age, the isolation of being a housewife only serving to strengthen the illness within her. Her grandfather’s alcoholism was both induced by Donna’s behaviour and acted as a further catalyst to her demise. Ava reacted to this passively. She’d remembered the look of concern shadowing in her father’s furrowed brow.  
“Ava? Are you alright?”  
She’s blinked for a moment before speaking in a tone that held little hesitance, “Well, I guess that’s why mom’s crazy,”  
She stripped down to her undergarments in the en suite, letting the pair of jeans and the grey hoodie flop limply into the empty washing basket. In the mirror she caught a glimpse of once burnt and blistered flesh, a memory from long ago that still panged ever so slightly. Her mother’s lack of supervision, the pot of boiling water; there was a reason why mothers were advised to turn the handle.  
There had been incidents like this all throughout her life, all of them linking back to her mother. Viola was a beautiful woman, well educated, poised, the sort of woman destined for Vinewood billboards in her youth and “ageing gracefully” advertisements in her later life. Whether it was growing up with a mother whose hysterical fits earned her noise complaints or it was simply written into the stars of her DNA, Viola had “a few screws loose”, though these were the words of her estranged friends and not herself.   
From downstairs Ava heard the doorbell chime. Midday meant it could be anyone; a colleague of her mothers, the gardener reporting to Julia, maybe the mail guy had taken his other route. Ava unhooked the back of her bra, dropped her underwear and turned on the water, letting the warm spray bite at her skin delightfully. Childhood scalding may have left her scarred yet it had had a rather adverse effect on the young woman; she enjoyed showers that threatened to scald. Clambering over the walls of the bathtub she let the water envelope her body. As she followed her bathroom routine; dousing her hair in shampoo then conditioner, scrubbing her face raw, making a half-ass attempt at shaving her legs, Ava let her mind wander to the previous night once more. She didn’t want to admit it to herself, admitting it was a relinquishment of weakness that she truly couldn’t afford, but she was starting to feel slightly shaky on the demands she’d made the night before. Water trailed down the nape of her neck as she conjured the images in her mind. Her father had always told her not to gamble, yet she had just gone all in, and was impatiently waiting for the dealer to reveal his hand.   
She left the shower when the hot water’s intensity began to lessen noticeably. Ava twisted her dark hair with a green towel, draping it into a tower that peaked on her head as she began to dry her body with a twin piece of material. Back in her bedroom, a male’s voice drifted upwards, though she couldn’t place it in her mind despite having the inkling that she should. Truthfully she would have surmised it to be a television program if Julia’s voice hadn’t greeted it. Lazily Ava tossed on a pair of white undergarments before throwing on an oversized Love Fist t-shirt and denim shorts.   
Ava made her way down the staircase brushing the knots in her damp hair with her right hand, calling out as she took the stairs two at a time, “Can you get a pot of coffee going, Julia?”  
She skittered to a halt at the kitchen door, her mouth practically falling open as she caught sight of just who the afternoon visitor was.   
“Guess you forgot about our meeting plans, sweetheart,”  
Michael De Santa wore a bemused expression, sitting at the kitchen bench as Julia poured steaming coffee into a mug in front of him. Ava regretted not inquiring about who had knocked on the door before she’d gotten dressed.   
“Oh shi- Yes, I’m sorry. Completely slipped my mind,”  
“St. Reaves are scatter brains,” Julia commented, there was a certain humour in her voice much to Ava’s surprise. She’d expected for Julia to be slightly scolding at Ava’s behaviour in front of her supposed client, but this didn’t seem to have occurred to the woman. Her brown cheeks were tinted rosy, Ava wouldn’t have been surprised if the name “sweetheart” was used liberally by the man, “I hope you don’t mind, Mr De Santa. Young people, after all,”  
“Ava’s got a lot more initiative than my two,” Michael commented, “James is twenty, but you’d never guess it the way he lies around all day. Tracey’s always up to no good, she couldn’t be more than a year younger than you, Ava,”  
“They sound like a handful… Milk?”  
“No, no milk, the wife’d have my head,”  
Julia laughed a little too had at this. Ava’s mood had soured considerably in the span of a little under a minute. Standing in the door way of the kitchen. She guessed that Franklin had provided her address, she just hadn’t expected a meeting so soon, and so unexpectedly. She’d only first spoken to the man the day before, but now he was speaking like he and Julia were two parents bonding at a school function, having been lumped together in the same volunteer group.  
“Funny,” Ava muttered, moving to the stool next to Michael’s, but not sitting. He gave her a small smile, though his eyes shone with silent laughter.   
“You know Ava, you should have mentioned you were having a client over, I would have prepared lunch,” despite addressing Ava, Julia’s eyes hadn’t left Michael. Ava wanted to roll her own.  
“I couldn’t possibly bother you with going to all that trouble, Julia. Though I must say, you go above and beyond my own maid,”  
Julia began to literally smile ear to ear, her teeth sparkling in the sunlit glow of the kitchen, “Well I was a maid, now I’m more of a personal assistant to the St. Reaves. Ava’s mother is a professor of archaeology and her studies don’t leave her much time to function, so I run the household and look after this bundle of joy. Have since she was barely a month old,”  
“Charming story. Amanda and myself could use someone like yourself, good help is hard to find,”  
“Well Julia’s a real diamond in the rough,” Ava interjected before the conversation could continue. She’d had enough of Michael smooth talking Julia for now, “Time’s a wasting, Mr De Santa, we’ve got business to discuss,”  
“I could open up the stu-”  
“That’s fine. My room’s fine, no need for the study,”  
Ava was already at the doorway again, gesturing to Michael, who looked faintly surprised.  
“Well… okay,” Julia gave a small shrug, “If that’s what you want Ava. It was lovely meeting you Mr De Santa,”  
“Please, Michael,”  
Ava truly did roll her eyes at this, though neither saw.  
“Okay Michael, feel free to take the coffee with you,”  
Michael gave a small nod, retrieving the coffee from its saucer. With an internal cringe, Ava realized it was the mug she’d made for Father’s Day in grade school. He thanked Julia before following after Ava, who was already ascending the stairs, a nervous energy rampant inside of her.   
“Nice woman,” he commented on the second landing of stairs. Ava shot him a look over her shoulder.  
“She had a husband,”  
“I have a wife,”  
But you sure didn’t act like it, at least not for a while. Ava had a whole folder on Michael’s marital discrepancies. He seemed to sense her thoughts as they arrived on the second landing, “We’ve had problems in the past, no doubt you know, but we’re on track now, the right track,”  
“Yeah,” was all the woman offered. She gestured to her open door, to which Michael proceeded forward, giving a small snort.  
“Might not be as pink as my daughter’s room, but doesn’t make it any less juvenile,” he commented as he passed several photographs Ava had sticky taped to her wall. The woman found herself blushing.  
“I had a… goth phase, okay?”  
“*NSYNC is goth?”  
“… Shut up,”  
Michael chuckled, “So, where do I sit? The bean bag, the sofa, the… bed?”  
“Take the office chair,” Ava replied curtly, trying not to scowl but failing. He was deriving a little too much entertainment from this.  
“Yes ma’am,”  
Ava plopped herself across from him on the bed, trying to look dignified. It had never occurred to her to redecorate her room before, but now all she could see were things she needed to change. Plaster over the celebrity faces, get rid of the stickers on her dresser, throw away the novels on her bookshelf that screamed young adult fiction, change the black drapes of her four poster bed. She’d never brought a guy home apart from high school boyfriends, and now she was glad of it. Michael seemed to scan the room for punch lines. Better distract him, Ava thought to herself, before he spotted the “Ava loves Al Di Napoli” scrawled onto a faded poster.  
“So, wanna tell me why you’re here, in my house?”  
Michael chuckled, “We’re practically neighbours, sugar, thought I’d come be neighbourly,”  
“Quit fucking around,”  
“Christ,” he said, his tone slightly mocking, “Darling, want some advice? Men don’t like aggressive women, even if they’re pretty,”  
“I couldn’t give less of a shit,” did he just infer what she thought he’d inferred?  
“Guess no one ever gave you the swearing talk,” Michael replied, smirking.  
“Guess not. Now, you wanna let me know why you’re here?”  
He gave a resigned sigh, before shifting in the leather seat. The chair squeaked softly in response, “Frank told me about last night, and I thought I’d come to tell you I’ve recognised your involvement,”  
“Good,” Ava replied, “I would have been involved anyway,”  
“Something told me that,” he shook his head dismissively, however he retained his small smile, “Look, I’ve agreed, but I’ve got conditions so don’t think this is coming to you easy. You gotta train up. This is gonna be big leagues shit and we can’t keep waiting for you to steady yourself while we’ve got the entire LSPD’s squad cars breathing down our neck and choppers on the horizon. And I don’t just mean going to the shooting range, anyone with some money in their pocket can manage that, but actual jobs, y’know. Get your experience up, get you hardened, and stop you from turning out to be some snitch who runs to the cops at the last minute when we’re about to take Weston down. Precautions, you get me?”  
Ava nodded slowly, assessing the information in her mind. That was all well and good, of course, she knew that getting herself involved would mean getting in deep, “Yeah, I got you,”  
“Good. You know what I mean by jobs, don’t ya?”  
“Heists… But… I mean, I know about the Union Depository, surely you wouldn’t want to be getting even more money, I mean you’re probably stacked for life,”  
“We’re not after money this time,” he paused, “we’re after information, after blood. We’re going to start dismantling Devin’s empire and all of the shit that goes with it. An extra dollar or two our way won’t hurt, but we won’t be taking anything that won’t deal a hand to the fucker,”  
“Okay, makes sense,” Ava nodded, already feeling her stomach shift with nervousness. This was a real deal, “So… Do you know where we strike first?”  
Michael smiled ruefully, light blue eyes boring into her own, “Well, that’s what we’re doing today. We’re gonna see a buddy of mine,”

Not much had ever procured a reason for Ava to visit Murietta Heights, however she wasn’t exactly unhappy with this. It was run-down, a few levels lower than Strawberry even, and she was almost hesitant to leave Michael’s car. The man beside her seemed to sense her tense up, giving a small chuckle as he unclicked his seat belt.  
“Want me to crack the window?”  
It took her a moment to realize this comment was something to be offended by.  
“No,” she replied, slightly indignantly, “I’m fine,”  
“Alright princess, whenever you’re ready,”  
He was outside the car before she’d undone her seatbelt. Scowling, she followed after him, scrunching her nose at the scent of pollution and garbage. She followed in Michael’s wake, as he made his way up the path, towards the squat home she assumed belonged to Lester Crest. She’d seen the man only once on her surveillances, managing to link him to the trio but finding little in her searches of him. All she’d managed was a name, an age and the knowledge that his health was deteriorating. When they reached the door, the reason for this quickly became apparent; Michael flashed a grin at a white security camera, giving it a wave. Pretty weird for someone who lived in Murietta Heights. There was a small click and the door opened, Michael giving her a smirk.  
“Ladies first,”  
“I’m good,”  
“Suit yourself, don’t go complaining ‘bout chivalry any time soon,”  
Ava glowered at the man’s back as he disappeared into the house before following behind him hesitantly, closing the door behind her and sealing the artificial darkness.  
Inside the building, there was an apparent smell of dust, her nose catching a certain stale quality to the air. Piles and shelves overflowed with documents and papers, comics and books, various action figures and references to a menagerie of television shows and movies she’d never seen. Rounding a corner, her eyes were greeted with the alien glow of a computer screen, tingeing the man in front of it with a pallid glow that served to make him look unearthly. The man had tilted his head, staring at Ava avidly, before shooting a questioning look to Michael.  
“Well, you could have at least said something about… company,”  
“Aw Lest, would you have cleaned up a little?” Michael gave a small snort, moving forward to clamp a hand on the man’s shoulder. Lester glowered at him before turning his attention back to Ava. Something about the glassy quality to his eyes and the way they bulged unnerved the woman.  
“When Michael talked about Devin Weston and an apparent… Tip-off, he didn’t exactly elaborate,” he gave a cough, “I’m Lesterm”  
“Ava,” she didn’t extend her hand.  
“Y’heard of the last name St. Reaves?” Michael cut in, and Ava felt herself unclench her lips.  
“Vaguely…” the man paused to wrack his brain, “FIB?”  
“Yup. This is his daughter,”  
“Huh,” he seemed mildly interested by this fact, studying Ava with a higher intensity before glancing back to Michael, “So, how come you’ve decided to bother me? I thought I wouldn’t be seeing you again, or at least not any time soon,”  
“You sound annoyed, Lest,” he sighed, “Well, look, we’re gonna need your help. With downing Devin… But we can’t just go in swinging. It’s too risky,”  
“Ah, older and wiser now, are we? Well, Mikey, I was thinking that after the Union Depository I’d be able to sink into retirement… Well, a retirement of sorts. I’m not too keen for sticking out my neck without any form of compensation,”  
Michael sighed, crossing his arms across his chest, glancing over to Ava. She raised her eyebrows; she figured the guy had a point.   
“Well, look, since Ava’s new to all of this… business, we need to set up some smaller heists to get her trained up for when we start taking on the big guns. We’ll need you, Lest, so if comp’s what you need, then we’ll go through the motions,”  
Lester raised his eyebrows, stretching his lips into a crude smile that revealed warped teeth. Ava found herself unconsciously running the tip of her tongue along her own. Painfully straight, she’d had them restrained by braces in high school, leaving her with a fear of the dentist and an aversion from teeth that looked less than satisfaction, “A new apprentice, wow Michael, you really love leaving retirement,”  
“It ain’t for me, Lest, not quite yet,”  
Ava let out a small chuckle, earning her the silent stares of both men, before Lester spoke again, “I’ll see what I can pull together. What sort of skills exactly do you have? We can’t go dragging around dead weight,”  
“She managed to stalk us pretty damn well, practically wrote us all biographies,” Michael interjected.  
“I’m a mid-level hacker,” Ava said with a shrug, “I was a bit of a nerd in high school, it was one of my past times,”  
“A goth, a nerd, what’s next?” Michael chuckled. Lester furrowed his brow, as if he found her words fairly unbelievable.   
“You’d be good for canvasing,” he murmured, completely ignoring what Michael and her had stated, instead turning to his computer and typing rapidly into the computer, “Which is where we’ll have you two starting,”  
Michael folded his arms over his chest, “What’re you thinking Lest?”  
“Well,” Lester murmured as his fingers became a whir, “I’m thinking we cut off Weston’s funds. He’s got quite a few shares and financial bonds with various companies and organizations around Los Santos, and if we start to cut those ties off, it’ll start putting some pressure on him. But right now, they don’t know that we’re coming. So… The smart thing to do would be see just how well off Merryweather are at the moment,”  
“We gave ‘em hell, what’s left probably won’t put up too much of a fight,”  
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Lester replied, leaning forward slightly as he scanned the screen in front of him. From the look of it, he was looking through an encrypted database. Ava found herself moving closer to the computer screen.  
“Is that Merryweather’s files?”  
Lester jumped slightly when he noticed her proximity, the young woman having to quell the instinct to back away when his eyes traced over her. “Yes. And there are several messages confirming that they’re getting reinforces in soon. I’ve been keeping an eye on them since Franklin chose the Third Way,”  
“And thank fuck he did,” Michael muttered to himself. Ava found herself raising an eyebrow, mentally commanding herself to remember the phrase.   
“Yes, well if there’s ever the time to do a surveillance, it’s now. It gives you something to do while I compile some ideas for downing Devon’s affiliations,” Lester had edged slightly closer to Ava. There was a soft creak as Michael moved to Ava’s side and swept his arm around her shoulder, giving a chuckle. Ava caught the scent of his cologne, familiar in a strange and eerie way.   
“Sounds good Lest, give me a buzz when you’ve got the dirt. My new protégé and I are going to Elysian Island to scope things out,”  
“Alright Mikey,” he said with a laboured sigh, “Try not to get yourselves caught,”  
“We won’t,”  
Ava was shocked how quickly Michael had had managed to steer Ava into the car. When they’d stepped over the threshold of Lester’s house, the door clicking shut behind them, Ava ducked out from under the man’s arm and wordlessly stood by the car. He remained silent until they were half way down the street, the soft murmur of the car’s engine filling the void between them. As he slowed to pause at an intersection, he glanced over at her, offering a grim smile.  
“Sorry, gut reaction. I might trust Lest with crap like this, but with my daughter, or any young woman for that matter? No,”  
“How admirable,” Ava remarked, though she couldn’t help appreciating the gesture, how it had a genuine quality to it, “He was hardly doing anything, though,”  
Michael sighed as he pulled onto the main road, “With Lester, you give him an inch and he’ll try to find out every single thing about that inch. Especially with women. I’d just suggest never dealing with him personally, I’ve heard a lot of… stories,”  
There was something in Michael’s voice that made her not want to question the phrase any further. She gave a curt nod, “So.. Elysian Island, huh? Can’t say I’ve been to the Post of LS before,”  
“Yeah, we’re headed there, but there’s a pit stop we’re going to have to make beforehand,” he paused, “It’s to help with the surveillance,”  
“Well, you are at the wheel. Lead the way,”


End file.
